The (Abridged) Diary of Elrond Peredhel
by Lydwina Marie
Summary: A few excerpts from the hectic diary of Middle-earth's favourite Elven lord. What more can be said? COMPLETE
1. Chapter One

**The (Abridged) Diary of Elrond Peredhil**

Lydwina Marie

 _The Thirteenth Day of Yavannië, TA 143_

Hello. My name is Elrond Peredhil, and I have two sons who are utterly lacking in intelligence. (How strange. I can't think where they get it from.)

By the Valar, what now? A mere introduction is accomplished in my birthday journal, and now yells ensue from the courtyard? I fear for my life. If Elladan or Elrohir (most likely they did it together, knowing them) broke Glorfindel's bow AGAIN, I shall see Ada sooner than I expected. I do not anticipate writing again.

 _The Fourteenth Day of Yavannië, TA 143_

Greetings once more, diary. I suppose you are dying to find out what the Incident was last time I wrote. Ha. Elladan fell out of a tree. HOW CAN HE HAVE FALLEN FROM A TREE? He is an ELF, albeit half-human, so I suppose that makes all the difference. He has broken five ribs. How like a Peredhil. (And that just came out. Of course, such an insult does _not_ apply to myself.) _I_ am a sensible individual.

I am surprised I found time to write. Elrohir has gone hyperactive (he probably thinks it looks cool) and scurries everywhere, taking care to be completely in the way during the process. Despite being the younger (which he still disputes, by the way) he was clutching Elladan most protectively when I arrived. He wouldn't even allow me to examine him. Strange creature. Again, at a loss as to how he came by so upsetting a disposition. Not to mention that (in my opinion) both their minds are dangerously unstable. Highly so. 'Tis worrisome.

Oh blessed Elbereth, I just had a terrifying thought. What if Celebrian had triplets and there were THREE identical Elflings to take care of! I must count my blessings.

 _The Seventeenth Day of Yavannië, TA 143_

The blessings of Elbereth upon you, diary. I realise with must guilt that I have gone three entire days without so much as glancing at you. The sad truth is, Elladan is much worse, and now Elrohir has gone and broken _his_ ribs as well. It appears, from his moaned explanations, that through their bond Elladan dared him to leap from a tree into the pond. How like Elrohir not to remember that there are rocks there. Anyways, his condition is much worse than Elladan's, and he is in considerable pain, which he unquestionably deserves. I have a sad life.

Except for Celebrian. She is my light. I know not what I would do without her. She speaks the only sense spoken in Imladris from day to day, (besides that which I speak myself) and besides which is the only personage who can control my rambunctious offspring. If she leaves, I shall have to follow. I would definitely go mad if I were left alone with those twins. Valar bless her. I think I will go find her now. Then (I suppose) I should go to Elladan and Elrohir.

 _The Nineteenth Day of Yavannië, TA 143_

I am missing more and more days in you. This is unacceptable. And it is all because of the twins.

Oh, I am not blaming them for everything bad that has happened, although technically I could. Will not explain now, I don't have time. Elrohir is running a ridiculous fever. I can't see why he doesn't find more suitable times to do these things. Of course it's all Elladan's fault.

Oh, for Valar's sakes, I need to be less accusing. This is going to be difficult. I think it must be a natural part of me. But still. Celebrian would be displeased, and Celebrian is everything. But I have already gone into that.

I think there is something wrong with me. My quill is scrawling feverishly over the page (although of course I have lovely Elven handwriting) without break. Currently I have no idea what I am writing. This should be interesting later.

Did you know we had Dwarven sausages for the evening meal yesterday? They were fat and extremely juicy. Mine burst all over the table, it was so stuffed with grease. I got another one and they were moderately tasty, but I shall never trust a Dwarven sausage again. Celebrian, of course, was far too polite to say anything about them, since the delegation from Erebor were still present (eating with gusto), but she said plenty afterwards. As did I.

How did I get onto the subject of sausages? Far too fattening for us Elves, in any case.

I do not want to speak about sausages anymore. The mere mention of such things causes me to lose my appetite.

Valar above, I do not want to talk about them!

If we are to go down dark paths in this journal, I may as well write of my sons. Trust me, I love them. It is only a little difficult some of the time. (Most of the time? Or does that sound too discriminatory?)

Oh. No time now. Elrohir is screaming. Or is it Elladan?

GTG.


	2. Chapter Two

_The Eleventh Day of Cermië, TA 2952_

I am back, after a few thousand years! And my life has changed disgustingly. I do not know how to say it, I can only hope that my natural Elven eloquence will aid me in this task.

To make a long story short, my (only) (one and only, in case that wasn't clear) daughter has fallen in love with a greasy-haired _Ranger_.

Now don't get me wrong. I am _calm._ As an Elf-lord, how could I be otherwise?

Do. Not. Freak. Out.

I am talking to myself. Strangely enough, I have been for the last several days.

Did I mention that Celebrian left?

 _The Eleventh Day of Cermië, TA 2952_

I know not how I came to be here (again), but may I just say... hi.

I had to come back. I simply could not help it! I need something to help with the stress of the last thousand years. To top it off, the Imladris Spa has closed down (since Elladan and Elrohir, who ran it after Glorfindel decided he wanted to tour Middle-earth, have decided it is perfectly acceptable to leave Imladris for unspecified amounts of time) and my muscles are stiff. Oh well. It was ridiculously expensive. I do not think anyone _realises_ how much it takes to stay calm in Imladris! People travel in from far and wide, in awe at my calm demeanour that miraculously I can still maintain, asking for my autograph. It appears I am famouser than I thought.

Wait.

Famouser? Is that a word?

This is worrying. Can the stress be affecting my brain negatively?

I thought I always said it "more famouser" or something like that. Should I change it? I am not sure.

No! I will not. No one else is going to read this (I hope), especially not Erestor (my official grammarian).

Oh, in case you are still worrying about my sons, they have both recovered from their respective *ahem* injuries. Of course, since then, they have somehow injected themselves with exotic poisons, gotten themselves run through with blades (rather disgustingly filthy, as well! Where is their sense of decorum and propriety?)

I am going crazy. I miss Celebrian.

 _The Seventeenth Day of Cermië, TA 2952_

That silly ranger is here again. Can't remember his name at the moment, but apparently he thinks he is heir to some empty throne in some far-off corner of Arda. Good riddance to him. What makes it 97x worse is that Elladan and Elrohir have somehow befriended him, and now they wander off with him and come back ( _with_ him) expecting me to heal their hideous hurts. I wonder if I could get as powerful as Galadriel and protect Imladris from certain people? Keep them out permanently, perhaps?

Hmm. Something to think about, anyways.

 _The Eighteenth Day of Cermië, TA 2952_

Dearest diary, it is my eighth entry! What a record!

I just noticed the year of my first entry... Was that supposed to be encouraging? Now I am depressed. Glorfindel says it is characteristic of the Peredhel family to doubt their worth an average of 2,391 times a year. Now _that_ is depressing.

Namárië. I am going to go look for something to kick.


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N:** Last chapter! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _The Seventeenth Day of Víressë, TA 4104_

Dear diary, I thought I should write again seeing as my position has changed. Enormously. Let me explain.

Instead of being in charge of a pack of Elves that I pretend to hate but in truth find very nice and love very much, I have been forced to step aside to the Valar. In short, I am no longer in charge. This is anguish! I _must_ be in charge! I _must_!

Diary, I do not know what to do. For so long my life has stayed (relatively) the same, but now it is gone – _gone_!

Oh, did I mention that I've sailed? I have been reunited with my sweet little Celebrian, and Elladan and Elrohir infested Valinor with their presence when that silver-haired father-in-law of mine came. On the topic of Celeborn, is it weird to say that I've always been afraid of him?

* * *

 _ **A long time later.**_ _ **In other words, The End of Time.**_

Well. We are all here together again, I am vaguely amused to say. Sadly this includes that greasy-haired Ranger my sons say I adopted a long time ago. Strange. _I_ can't remember that (which of course means it did not happen). All I remember of him is that he had an upsetting affinity for filthiness, an unparalleled hatred of bathing, and that he kidnapped my daughter after stealing a throne.

* * *

 _A few minutes later_

How strange. Elladan and Elrohir say that is not how it happened. I wonder. Perhaps I shall go speak to the Ranger.

* * *

 _Half an hour later, still The End of Time (ghostly awestricken eerie gasp)_

I saw Arwen. She was playing abstractedly with the Ranger's (still greasy) hair. She did not look pleased to see me. I wonder what I did. I shall have to employ my outrageously clever advisor who happens to be here with me.

I still feel sick from those nauseous Dwarven sausages.

* * *

 _Later still_

I have power cravings. Not food cravings, like Celebrian used to get when she was pregnant (which meant for me a full year of getting up at night to get her chocolate-covered strawberries). I mean _power_ cravings.

In persons as amazing as I am, this is not an uncommon thing, I am told. I wonder if the real reason Fëanor was banished was because he tried to usurp the Valar. If I did the same thing, they would probably not do anything to me, because I never made Silmarils. Nor am I presumptuous or proud.

Sometimes I feel so virtuous I think I am about to die.


End file.
